A Message to the Children of the Morn
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A blessing on the Children of the Morn
From those of us born Children of the Night:
May courtesy replace each dagger drawn.
For who elects the tribe to which he’s born?
The goddess of the moon reserves her right
To tithe her tribe, sweet Children of the Morn.
And that harsh mistress may not be forsworn;
Shall blows and threats convert her satellite?
Let courtesy replace each dagger drawn.
Rude wakings and the shock of covers drawn
In pious glee — but feed the fires of spite.
Take heed, take heed, O children of the morn!
For those who scorn to scuff the dew at dawn
Their consolation lies in soft starlight.
Let courtesy replace each dagger drawn;
And wake us not to mourn our dreams stillborn,
Lest one dark night we put you all to flight!
Sleep’s blessings on the Children of the Morn:
May courtesy replace each dagger drawn.
I make no apology for the tribe into which I was born. I am a night person. It has always dismayed me that early risers show so little courtesy to those of us who habitually go to bed in the early hours. What possible moral high ground is there in attempting to inflict your own sleep patterns on another? How would morning people like it if we night folk raced around throwing off their bed covers and turning on the lights and making tea and feeding the cat and shouting up the stairs at 2:00 am?
